Cheers to the First Day of Your Life

For as long as I could remember, I’ve had a passion for literature. Only I didn’t know I did. I’m not sure if it’s a common phase kids go through, but I journaled a lot growing up. And I mean a lot. I was constantly writing books and creating fake scenarios on paper. 

But somewhere between elementary and middle school, I realized I wasn’t the best student (math still kicks my ass to this day), but I was a stellar athlete. I still loved reading and writing, but I had something else that could get me somewhere; something with a future.

Then again, between middle and high school, I realized there’s no future in these silly stories or exaggerated excerpts of my life. I just had an overactive imagination, and wasn’t truly capable of writing anything worth reading, ever.

So I gave it up.

It’s here that I wish someone had intervened and told me, “Hey, you can make a career out of being a writer. You can write fiction or nonfiction. There’s travel writing and copywriting and technical writing. Even if your work never takes off, you can pursue what you love.”

But that never happened.

By this point, all thoughts of writing were gone. I still read books often, but my priorities were elsewhere now. After all, athletics were going to get me into college - not being able to read the Twilight Saga in four days. 

Over the years I seriously began to prioritize sports. It taught me discipline and hard work, and helped me to grow as a person. It was fantastic. I made lifelong friends and had amazing opportunities to travel with my team. 

I loved being an athlete.

Then college hit and what were supposed to be the best four years of my life were the most confusing. 

Before I knew it, I’d transferred to four universities in 2 years. At first I was still chasing the dream of playing a collegiate sport. I couldn’t accept everything I worked for may have been for nothing. But my gut knew sooner than I cared to admit; my heart wasn’t in it. Soon, there was no sport, no program, no school I was happy at. 

Eventually I dropped out. 

I visited my friends at their universities, and it was fine, because no one had graduated yet. No one was moving towards being an adult. We were all still in our early 20s, and I was still tied to the identity of being an athlete. We all were. So I worked odd jobs; babysitting, coaching, being a camp counselor. I spent 5 years of my life in this limbo; happier than at school, but still unfulfilled. 

Then Covid hit and suddenly, things were way different. 

People were doing things remotely. School, work, socializing. All of it became virtual. But I didn’t have a virtual job to go back to, so I walked. 

Teddy (my dog) and I were eventually doing between 6 and 8 miles daily, and it was during these walks that I decided to go back to school and finish my degree. 

I honestly remember the moment as though it were yesterday; I was walking in the nature center that connects from my house to the back of our high school. I remember thinking to myself how I'd wish I finished. How I wished I didn’t just give up. Maybe, just maybe, since there was so much free time on my hands right now I could go back. 

See, I dropped out of college because I thought I hated school. And I was still too attached to this identity I’d outgrown. But since universities had launched fully remote programs, I wouldn’t have to leave my house. If nothing else, at least I could suffer from the comfort of my own home.

Then the world opened up and the thought of going back to school had slipped my mind. 

Until one December day I said fuck it, and I sat down to re-apply. I would go back to the last school I attended. They were a local, but accredited university. I just had to get in, get my degree, and get out.  I only had to submit a form saying I would like to be readmitted. 

It was during this process that everything came back to me. I realized I still had a knack for writing. I actually enjoyed explaining my life situation, and how I’d grown as a person in the years I was away from school. It was like riding a bike (which fun fact I cannot do successfully). When they sent me my acceptance letter, it came with a brochure, and I saw an offering for a dual degree program in English. 

This moment completely changed the trajectory of my life. 

It brought me back to the kid I was 15 years ago. I looked at my mom. She was practical. She had a degree in engineering. And as the person bankrolling my education, I needed her approval. But we both knew. 

And just 3 years later, I graduated with honors, 2 degrees, and a reignited passion I had long forgotten about. 

Which brings us here. I must admit, I don’t really know what I’m doing. Shit, if I’m being honest, I enjoy writing, but that doesn’t mean I’m any good at it. I’m not completely idealistic; I’m well aware this could flop or worse, make me out to be a joke amongst anyone who comes across it.

But it feels right, and that has to count for something.